


but it's so gold, and it's so good

by waitforhightide



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Omorashi, PWP, Pants wetting, Piss kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shame, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 21:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitforhightide/pseuds/waitforhightide
Summary: If Shane put his fear in a box and shut it off, he probably did the same thing to other insistent naggings in his brain. Like being hungry or needing to sleep. So it made sense that, when he was sucked into something that caught his interest, Shane simply ignored his body and its signals.Which included needing to piss.





	but it's so gold, and it's so good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheseusInTheMaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/gifts).



> Title from Gold (Stupid Love) by Excision
> 
> If you're looking for amazing plot and feelings like my last BFU fic you are in the wroooong place, my friends.
> 
> Blink and you miss it, but Shane and Sara are polyamorous in this fic. Why break them up when you can have them be polyam?
> 
> Shame due to Ryan thinking his own kinks are weird mostly.
> 
> Also this fic is 100% entirely Theseus’s fault, go blame them and then read their half of this trade, [One Out Of Three of the Macdonald Triad]().

Everyone knew that Ryan obsessed about his projects, but somehow only Ryan seemed to notice that Shane got equally engrossed. For as many times as Shane gently talked Ryan down from more late nights spent at the office, or from taking his research home, Ryan was tapping Shane on the shoulder and jolting him from Wikipedia wormholes and lacunas in historical reference just as often.

And every time he did, Shane jumped as if he was entirely unaware of his physical surroundings, and then, within minutes, he disappeared. It took Ryan a long time to realize this was a pattern, and even longer to realize why, but after they went to Yuma, something clicked.

If Shane put his fear in a box and shut it off, he probably did the same thing to other insistent naggings in his brain. Like being hungry—Ryan had seen him chow down like a starving man and say he had simply forgotten to eat since the previous night—or needing to sleep. So it made sense that, when he was sucked into something that caught his interest, Shane simply ignored his body and its signals.

Which included needing to piss.

It seemed too obvious, somehow, as if someone as cryptic as Shane Madej should have had a less mundane reason for vanishing for several minutes every single time he ended a marathon research session, or ghost hunt, or movie marathon—all things he did with Ryan, and all things Ryan had seen him practically leap up from to head to the nearest bathroom. Ryan did his best to push the idea away—first of all, there was no reason Shane couldn’t be in the bathroom for other reasons, including just a mental reset, a transition to the next task, a chance to check his phone or wash his hands or just step away from Ryan for a hot goddamn second. Secondly, it was rude to project your weird kinks onto your friends. Ryan knew this. He also knew it inevitably happened anyway. The weird thing about having pee-adjacent fantasies was that no one else around you did, and so you found yourself in awkward conversations where you were the only one trying not to pop a boner during someone’s embarrassing-moment story from high school, or whatever. This hadn’t happened with Shane—not until this cruel post-Yuma insight into his compartmentalization skills—because Shane just didn’t mention his own bodily functions very often. Not that he was above making poop jokes on camera, far from it. More that he just… didn’t find his own needs important to discuss.

All in all, it was so _Shane_ to get so caught up in something he was desperate to piss and just… never mention it. And that wasn’t just Ryan’s weird fetish talking.

The half-curiosity, half-fantasy fixation persisted after Yuma, catching Ryan in awkward daydreams and trains of thought, until one otherwise uneventful Wednesday, when Ryan was coming back from a meeting about Sports Conspiracy’s filming schedule and planning to wake Shane up from whatever trance Ruining History had him in that day.

Ten feet from their desks, just as Ryan was about to call out to him, the fire alarm went off. It startled Ryan so badly that he almost dropped his coffee mug, and so he missed Shane getting up and was _further_ startled by Shane appearing before him.

“Is there a drill today?” he asked, frowning. Ryan shook his head.

“I don’t think so. Better get outta here before we burn to death, big guy,” he joked. He expected an eye-roll or a joke back, but instead Shane looked distracted. Before he could ask about it, he heard Curly’s voice from behind them.

“No drill, today, boys! This is the real deal! Better get moving!”

He swept by them into the throng of people now heading for the stairs. Ryan’s anxiety was piqued by the alarm, but he thought he caught Shane throw a nervous glance over his shoulder, as if looking for a blaze.

The moved together through the crowd of people until they found a patch of grass at the edge of the parking lot with some elbow room. The alarm was still blaring, and there was whispering in the crowd about an electrical failure in a server room

They’d been milling about for maybe five minutes, Ryan scrolling through his Twitter feed, when Shane made a small sound.

“Okay, dude?” Ryan asked, mostly out of reflex. 

“Yep,” Shane said, but he popped the “p” loudly and Ryan glanced up at his friend, concerned.

“You sure?”

Shane just nodded and pulled out his own phone. They scrolled in companionable silence for another few minutes until they heard approaching sirens and watched a fire engine pull into the lot. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Shane said under his breath Ryan glanced up, meaning to rib him about being worried about a fire alarm, but he saw that Shane’s arms were crossed tightly over his chest and he kept glancing to the front door, which was blocked by people from the fire department and a Buzzfeed administrator with a phone in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Shane?”

“Huh?” Shane seemed legitimately surprised that Ryan was at his side, and he glanced over and then away again. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Ryan asked, and then he saw the way Shane shifted his weight from one foot to another and a flush crept up the back of his neck. Oh. The drill had interrupted Shane’s editing, and he’d had no chance to make his ritual bathroom break. Ryan bit his lip against whatever joke he was about to make. For one thing, it would give away the fact that he was probably creepily attuned to Shane’s bathroom habits. For another, now was not really the time to make Shane _more_ uncomfortable. The heel of one shoe was tapping a staccato rhythm, and he barely glanced at his phone before glancing up at the front doors, still blocked.

Ryan made himself look away, pretending to scroll through Reddit but unable to stop the way thoughts careened though his head like fireflies hitting the sides of the jar. _God I wonder how bad he has to go, when was the last time he pissed? If he were alone, would he be holding himself? What if I encourage him to just go piss behind a goddamn tree? Fuck I wonder if he’d ask me to keep watch, maybe I could watch_ him, _see how badly he had to go and if he makes it or he fucking loses it in his jeans_ — 

Oh, god, he was so _fucked up._ Shame bloomed beside the spark of arousal in his gut. What kind of asshole got off on someone in distress, maybe even pain? Especially when that person was their co-worker/friend/ghost-hunting buddy. 

But Ryan couldn’t keep himself from sneaking glances at Shane, at the way he held his body, stiff and uncomfortable and devoid of his usual lanky grace. Ryan kept looking at the place where Shane's belt must be digging into his abdomen. It was physically difficult to keep from _literally licking his lips,_ like a lecherous cartoon villain taking pleasure in the hero's distress.

Ryan thought he was doing okay, that he had a handle on his wandering eyes and thoughts, until Shane made another small sound of distress and a strange, abortive movement with his body. Christ, had he almost reached down to hold himself?

Arousal and guilt flashed through Ryan in equal measure, but his dick didn't seem to mind the guilt part. Stupid fucking dick. 

Ryan forced himself to find the remaining bits of his better nature. “Shane, what's up?” he asked, doing his best to make his voice sound serious and not seriously interested.

Shane glanced at Ryan, his face pinched. “Sorry,” he said again. 

“For?”

“I, uh… it's fine, I just. Gotta take a leak.”

Ryan made a throaty sound he hoped came across as sympathetic instead of the strangled moan it actually was. “Anything I can do?” he asked. _Help you hold it? Help you lose it?_

Shane laughed shortly. “Make them hurry the fuck up.”

“I'll work on it,” Ryan said nonsensically, focusing mostly on things that would keep his half chub from getting carried away.

The next five minutes dragged out in painful slow motion. Shane green increasingly and uncharacteristically twitchy while Ryan, in an attempt not to embarrass himself, stood almost stock still. He tried not to stare at Shane—really he did—but he couldn't keep himself from noticing the sweat beading at his hairline and the way his grip on his own crossed arms was white-knuckled and vice-like.

They were nearing a point where something had to give, and Ryan was trying to find a way to say “Hey, maybe find a wall to piss against and also let me watch” without being creepy when he saw the fire engine pull slowly from the parking lot. There was a slow shift of the crowd towards the door, and Ryan opened his mouth to say something to relieve the tension, so to speak, but Shane muttered, “Oh thank God,” and then he was running with his ridiculously long legs towards the front door.

Ryan waited for him outside the men's room near the front desk. He told himself it was because he usually waited for Shane (which wasn't exactly untrue) and not because he was desperate—pun not intended, ha _ha_ —to see if Shane emerged with a wet spot on his light blue jeans, a shadow of darker color hinting at a worse predicament for the cotton of Shane's underwear, clinging wetly to his cock— 

“You didn't have to wait for me,” Shane said, pulling Ryan out of the whirlpool of his disgusting and wonderful thoughts. 

“I—you—it's fine,” Ryan said, thinking, _baseball stats, the Sallie House, the fucking Hot Daga,_ trying to get his boner to go down to work-appropriate levels. It wasn't super successful, but thankfully, Shane didn't seem to notice.

. . .

Ryan told himself his reward for not going into the bathroom and jerking himself off at work was that he was allowed to jerk himself off when he got home. It was twisted logic, and it made a hot wire of shame wind itself into the muscles of his shoulders and prickle the hair on the back of his neck, but it got him through the day. 

The moment he got into his apartment, though, he discarded his bag and fell back against the wall, fumbling with the button of his jeans and freeing his cock, heavy and hard after a ride home filled with thoughts of Shane from earlier. Ryan flicked through other scenarios in his head like skipping through videos—Shane holding on to his stoicism in the parking lot until his body went rigid and Ryan heard the tell-tale hiss of piss from his cock; Shane deciding “fuck it” and finding somewhere to let loose, somewhere where Ryan could hear the obscene splash if his pee and could tell how desperate he had been; Shane caught somewhere in between, unable to go but unable to hold it, asking for help. _Ryan,_ fantasy Shane gasped. _I have to piss so fucking bad—_

Ryan didn't even finish that particular scene before his orgasm shot through him, hot and bright and shameful. Jesus, what a fucking asshole he was, jerking off onto his goddamn floor like a fucking teenager to the idea of Shane humiliating himself. But even the heat of the shame crawling up his back was dulled by the afterglow, the way his whole body went warm and loose. He cleaned up the hardwood in the entryway and tried not to think about it.

. . .

Mission “Don’t Think About Shane Like That” was… not a miserable failure, but it certainly wasn’t as successful as he wanted it to be. Ryan made a point not to comment on Shane’s bathroom habits, as if that was a thing that would give him away. He also didn’t bring up the day of the fire drill. As far as Shane was concerned, Ryan knew nothing, thought of it never, and cared even less. And if Ryan found images of Shane—legs shaking, begging to be allowed to let go, teeth grit with the effort of holding back—joining his rotating jerk-off fantasies, well, that was just a thing that was bound to happen eventually, what with them spending so much together. It didn’t mean anything, and eventually it would burn out and Ryan would replace him with, like, Black Widow or something as soon as he wore the excitement out.

He kept telling himself that, even as his daydreaming about Shane began to eclipse other things.

By the time they and the rest of the Unsolved crew, including Mark and Devon, left on their road trip to shoot on location in eastern Nevada, Ryan knew he was well and truly obsessed. Not only did Ryan catch himself thinking about Shane in various predicaments in the van, but he crossed a line halfway to their destination—or at least smudged it. When Mark noted that they were approaching a rest stop, and the next one wouldn’t be for over an hour, Ryan deliberately didn’t break Shane out of his reading, and just let him mumble an affirmative that he didn’t need to stop, even though Ryan could tell he had absolutely no idea what Mark had said.

Half an hour later, when Shane put his phone down and asked, “Hey y’all, bathroom break soon?” Ryan felt the guilt clench in his stomach.

“Didn’t you just tell me you were good for the next like, two hours?” Mark asked.

“Uh, no?” Shane said, but—oh _fuck_ —he glanced over at Ryan for confirmation.

“He, well, he did ask us like thirty miles ago,” Ryan said, hoping the blush on his face wasn’t too evident.

“Oh. Huh.”

“I can pull over?” Mark offered, although he didn’t sound enthused. Ryan imagined having to explain a ticket for indecent exposure or something to the Buzzfeed HR department and could understand his hesitation.

“No, I—it’s fine,” Shane assured him. “Just stop at the next one.”

“Sure thing, man.”

Shane picked up his headphones again and Ryan did the same, fighting the urge to bring up the softcore piss stuff he had saved in his bookmarks. You just didn’t watch porn in the work van. 

_You don’t deliberately cast your best friend in your fucked-up fantasy come to life, either, asshole, and yet…_

Ryan buried himself in basketball takes and tried to ignore everything else in his stupid brain. And it was working! It really was! For almost forty-five minutes, he almost pretended he could forget that Shane was two feet to his left, pressure mounting in his bladder. Until Shane started shifting in the seat next to him every five fucking seconds, folding and unfolding and crossing his Ent legs. Ryan bit the inside of his cheek to keep his fucking cock in check, and he was beginning to taste blood when Shane said, “Mark? Can you—I gotta piss man, pull over.”

Ryan stopped breathing. Shane’s legs were crossed thigh over thigh and his hands were pressed between them, not at his crotch but halfway to his knees, as if he was trapping them there. He was tapping one foot again and his eyes were unfocused. Ryan wondered again if there was a wet spot on his boxer briefs. _From piss or precum, like yours would be?_ a vicious voice in his head asked. A thrill ran down his spine.

Mark pulled over, and Ryan remembered to breathe again, and then Shane was scrambling over Ryan’s lap to get to the side door and Ryan was clenching his fists at his sides to keep from touching Shane at all. He wasn’t watching, he told himself—he wasn’t _watching,_ but Shane left the door open as he planted his feet in that ridiculous “I’m pissing over here” pose Ryan knew he _also_ did, and it was stupidly hot. Not sexy or attractive, but somehow animally arousing. Something about the way Shane’s shoulders relaxed as his lower back tensed. Ryan thought of looking away—he would swear on his goddamn death bed—but then Shane honest-to-God moaned and Ryan could hear the sound of his piss pouring onto the dry grass off the shoulder of the road. It was all Ryan could do not to palm himself through his gym shorts. _Jesus Christ you asshole you’re disgusting, you’re practically molesting him over this, what the fuck!_ He agreed with his internal monologue, but that didn’t stop him from taking in the sight, knowing it would show up in every masturbatory fantasy reel for the next six months.

Then Shane was zipping his pants and Ryan was very deliberately _not looking out the door as_ he climbed back into the van.

“Thanks, guys,” he said as he got settled. The tension was gone from his voice and his usual good humor has replaced it.

“Any time, dude,” Mark said easily as he pulled back onto the highway. Ryan, very deliberately, said nothing.

. . .

When they got to location, it was fine. Really. Ryan threw himself into filming and for a few hours he didn’t have a single thought about Shane or Shane’s cock or Shane’s cock spilling hot, desperate piss onto the dry Nevada dirt. Everything was going forward as if Ryan wasn’t in the grips of his stupid kink more than he’d ever been before, and if he was acting weird, his friends—including Shane, thank _fucking_ God—chalked it up to the ghoul hunting. So Ryan was beginning to think that he’d make it through the trip without anything else happening to spark inappropriate boners and then he’d be able to go home and spend a few hours with his favorite videos and maybe the vibrator he had in his top drawer just for occasions like this when he was so mentally horny he thought he might explode.

Then the goddamn ghosts betrayed him.

He and Shane were sleeping on location, because that was a fan favorite and because the owner of the old house was letting them do it. They were all set up, static cams rolling and an EVP-specific audio recorder in the corner of the room, sleeping bags sprawled out in the center of the floor. They were getting ready to do all the boring chores that went with getting ready for bed, which meant Shane was cross-legged on his sleeping bag doing something while Ryan rummaged around for his contact solution on the opposite side of the room. This meant neither of them were near the door when it swung shut with a bang.

Ryan screamed and Shane shouted _“Fuck!”_ and then they were both over there, trying to open it and failing.

“Did you see that?” Ryan demanded, excited.

“Wind closes doors all the time, Ryan,” Shane argued. “I’m more worried about being locked in here.”

“I—what?”

“Weren’t you listening to the caretaker when she said the doors lock from the outside?”

 _I was probably busy thinking about whether or not I could jerk off without you noticing._ “No,” Ryan squeaked. 

Shane gave the door a few good yanks and then stepped away with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. It didn’t budge, only rattled in its old frame. “Well. I guess we’re stuck.”

“I’ll call Devon, have her come over and unlock it—”

“She’ll kill you,” Shane said darkly. “She hasn’t slept properly in a week.”

“Mark, then—”

“Look,” Shane interrupted. “We’re filming already, right? And they’re coming back in the morning. Why not just wait for them? It’s not like we were going exploring or anything.”

 _No, but I was hoping I’d have a chance to get off thinking of you,_ Ryan thought, that now-familiar crawling heat of shame working its way up the back of his neck. “Yeah, I—I guess you’re right,” he said.

Shane smirked at him. “Worried about the ghosts?”

“Shut up,” Ryan replied, rolling his eyes. The adrenaline from the sudden slam of the door was still coursing through him, making him feel wound tight, like a tuned guitar string.

“It’s fine, Ryan. Just do what you were planning on doing and let’s go the fuck to sleep so I can maybe get an hour in before you wake me up again.”

Shane seemed unbothered as he brushed his teeth dry, grimacing against the taste of toothpaste as he swallowed. Ryan went back to taking his contacts out and the two of them fell into the weirdly familiar rhythm of getting ready for bed together. For the first time it struck Ryan as rather intimate, and something stirred in him. He pressed it down with the heel of a mental ghost-stomping boot. _Not today, Satan,_ he thought, and then laughed.

“You alright, bud?” Shane asked from across the room. “You, uh, seem a little spooked.”

Ryan ran a hand through his hair, grateful for once that he had such a reputation for being jumpy. “Yeah, fine, just—y’know—” He gestured vaguely to the room around them. Shane shrugged.

“Well, I’m gonna try and grab some shut-eye before you inevitably wake me up,” he said, but there was no anger in it. He slid into his sleeping bag and rolled over, and Ryan blew a long breath through pursed lips and tried to do get comfortable, scrolling through his phone and twitching at all the small sounds of the house around him.

Usually Shane fell asleep like a rock dropped in still water—heavy, fast, and quickly stilled. It was something Ryan had come to depend on, a familiar pattern of breathing and bag-rustling in very unfamiliar places. He did his best to synch himself up to it, the way he might lean into his favorite song to focus. Tonight, however, Shane’s pattern never settled. Instead of falling asleep, he tossed and turned beside Ryan, the nylon of his bag whispering to the otherwise quiet room. He checked his phone and put it back down, rolled from one side to the other, and finally sat up with a disgruntled noise.

“Shane?” Ryan asked.

“Hrrm,” Shane grumbled back.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Guess not.”

“That’s… You okay?” Maybe he was worried about the locked door, or something was going on with Sara—he hadn’t mentioned her being out with another partner but maybe he was nervous, or jealous, or something.

Shane made noncommittal sound, and Ryan had resigned himself to the grumpy silent treatment when Shane said, “I gotta pee.”

Ryan’s entire body flushed hot and he barely managed not gasping aloud. “I—sorry,” he said stupidly. He was glad they were in the dark except for the faint glow of the camera on-lights and the half-moon filtering through the window, because his boner, which he’d been fighting valiantly all day, had come back with a fucking vengeance.

“Not your fault that the door is locked,” Shane groused.

“Not yours either.”

“Yeah, well.” Shane huffed out what could have been a laugh. They stayed in silence for another few minutes when Shane made another distressed sound, switched on his phone flashlight, and got up from his sleeping bag. Ryan squinted against the light and suppressed the urge to snap at his co-host to turn off the flashlight because it would white out the night vision on the cameras. Instead, he watched Shane—dressed in one of the Saturday Morning Ghoul Boys shirts and a pair of soft sweatpants—begin to pace the small room. With the length of his legs and the limited space, he only got a few steps in either direction. The movement was more frenzied than what he usually expected from Shane, jerkier, and fuck if that didn’t send another pulse of heat to Ryan’s cock. He told himself to stop staring like an idiot, but he didn’t, and he was snapped out of his reverie only when Shane finally paced over to the cameras.

“Hey!” Ryan objected.

“I’m not filming myself pissing my pants, Ryan,” Shane hissed after flicking the last camera off.

Ryan bit his lip again before he trusted himself to speak. “It’s—it’s that bad?”

“It’s pretty bad,” Shane said, looking straight at Ryan for the first time since the door swung shut. It gave Ryan the uncomfortable feeling that Shane was seeing through him, as if he was made of glass.

“I’ll—let me—I mean, we’re smart, we can brainstorm something, right?” Ryan babbled.

“ _Can_ we?” Shane asked, and Ryan hadn’t been expecting the sarcasm in his voice.

“Sure. I mean, there’s gotta be—”

“Are you sure you actually want to help?” Shane asked. There was no anger in his voice, only that same sardonic lilt. 

“What? Of course I—”

“That boner you’re hiding seems to disagree.”

Ryan’s voice died in his throat. He choked on whatever he’d been about to say, then sputtered, “Wh—what?”

Shane wasn’t pacing anymore, but he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, the same way he had in the parking lot, and giving Ryan a look he couldn’t identify. “C’mon, Ryan. You’ve been hard since eleven a.m. Are you really gonna argue?”

Ryan felt like someone had poured molten metal down the back of his neck. “It’s not—I mean—it’s not… what it looks like.”

Shane didn’t answer, just hissed a breath in through clenched teeth and closed his eyes behind his glasses. Ryan watched the way his fists clenched at his sides, how he could almost see the muscles in Shane’s abdomen tighten with the effort— 

And then Shane was calm again and giving Ryan a look with one quirked eyebrow. “Wanna tell me again that it’s not what it looks like? Because it looks like you’re getting off on the fact that I’m maybe ten minutes away from pissing myself.”

Ryan couldn’t help it. He turned his moan into a trapped grunt, but it was still loud in the small room. Hot shame coursed through him. _He knows, he knows, he caught me, he’s gonna—_

“You know,” Shane said, sounding thoughtful and strained. “It was you and your fucking ghosts that got us trapped in here, right?”

“They’re not my—”

“Don’t you think you should be part of the solution?”

 _Imposing_ was not a word one would normally associate with Shane Madej, but Ryan did so then, looking at up at him from the floor in the washed-out LED of Shane’s phone light. There was a glint in his eye that Ryan had never seen before. Whether it was the light, Ryan’s perverse imagination, or actually there, he couldn’t tell.

“What… what solution?” he asked finally.

“Distract me,” Shane said, and Ryan heard his voice shake.

“How should I—?”

“Well, since you’ve been watching me all day, maybe you should give me a chance to watch _you._ I bet you were planning to stroke yourself off in the bathroom before bed, weren’t you?”

It was stupid to lie at this point, and Ryan knew it, but he almost did anyway. Then his brain caught up with what Shane had actually _said_ and he stopped short. “You want to… watch me?”

“Unless you _don’t_ want to touch yourself right now?”

“No, I—fuck, I do.”

“Then go at it, Bergara,” Shane said, and something about the sound of his name on Shane’s tongue like that send another wave of heat through Ryan’s body. He shimmied out of his sleeping bag and stood up, and, before he could think too hard about it, slipped out of his sleep shorts, so he was only in a tank top and his boxer briefs. His erection was hard and obvious, a small spot of wetness over the head of it shining in the light. He reached to touch himself and then stopped, glancing at Shane again. 

“Are you—I mean—”

“Are you asking me permission?” Shane asked, and there was amusement in his voice now.

“I—maybe,” Ryan admitted. 

“I said _distract me,_ Ryan,” Shane insisted, and his voice was low and gravelly.

That was all Ryan needed. He gripped his cock through the fabric of his underwear, the feeling overwhelming after an entire day of anticipation for it. The nervousness and uncertainty of Shane’s gaze was quickly overpowered by the friction of his own palm against the sensitive line of his dick. He teased himself for as long as he could stand it (which was admittedly not very long) before slipping his hand into the waistband of his underwear and making a loose circle of his fingers around the sensitive head of his cock.

The sound he made mingled with Shane’s voice in a groan of need and he was reminded suddenly of where he was—standing five feet from his best friend, who was trembling with the need to piss. He looked up and saw that Shane had one hand gripping his own thigh, clearly in an attempt to not grab his crotch.

Ryan didn’t think much about it at all, really, his mind full of Shane’s voice and the way his fingers dug roughly into the tender flesh of his thigh. He crossed the room and stood in front of Shane, hands hovering uncertainly between them.

“Fuck, Ryan,” Shane ground out. “Help me.”

Ryan’s hands were on Shane then, the heel of one hand pressing up against Shane’s half-hard dick and the other ghosting over his lower back, over the muscles he’d watched tense when Shane pissed next to the van earlier. Shane ground up against the pressure of Ryan’s hand, his breath coming in short, fast gasps, as if he was afraid that relaxing his lungs would relax the rest of him. “Fuck, Ryan, fuck, fuck, shit—”

“What does it feel like?” Ryan asked breathlessly.

“A lot,” Shane said. “It—ugh—it’s a lot. Pressure. It hurts but—oh!—your—you, touching is better.”

“Why won’t you hold yourself?” Ryan asked, deciding if this wasn’t the time for honest questions, then there wouldn’t be one.

“It’s—unseemly,” Shane said, and laughed. Then his thighs clenched under Ryan’s hand and he groaned again. “Fuck.”

“Can I—?”

 _“Please.”_ Ryan tightened his grip around Shane’s cock, and Shane sagged backwards against the wall. “Ryan,” he gasped. “Jesus, I have to piss so bad—”

The memory of Ryan’s fantasies after the fire drill flashed through his head then and he whimpered, arousal burning through him. 

“You’re really getting off on this,” Shane said, sounding amazed.

“I’m sorry—”

“I saw you,” Shane said suddenly.

“I—what? When?”

“The van,” he explained, and he brought both hands to Ryan’s hips and grabbed tightly, though whether to steady himself or pull Ryan closer, Ryan couldn’t tell. “I saw you—watching me. Before we stopped. And then _when_ we stopped. And I—oh, _God,_ that’s so bad—I thought I was imagining things. But you were h-hard.”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed, and he pressed his erection up against Shane’s thigh, right about where he’d been gripping it earlier.

“Ryan, can I—f-f-fuck, come here—” Shane pulled him in for a breathy, frenzied kiss that seemed as much about distraction as want. Ryan wasn’t complaining. Feeling Shane’s mouth, his quick, hot breaths, was incredible. He was still pressed close to Shane, his hand over Shane’s dick, when Shane whined—a straight up, high-pitched, keening whine—and Ryan felt warmth flood his hand.

“Fuck, Shane—”

“I didn’t—I’m not—fuck, I cannot believe I just leaked on you—” Shane was a mess, face flushed and eyes screwed shut with effort. Both hands were digging into Ryan’s hips and he was thrusting forward into Ryan’s hand, even in the wetness. It didn’t seem entirely voluntary, and Ryan thought it was maybe an effort in holding on rather than getting himself off. “Ryan, I have to—I can’t—shit, fuck, _fuck_ , I have to piss, Ryan—” They stayed that way for a minute, pressing and rocking up against each other, and then Shane went tense and still.

Ryan, on impulse, pressed his mouth to the pulse point on Shane’s neck, where his skin was hot and damp with sweat. “C’mon, man. Let go, huh? You’ll feel so good, fuck—”

“Fuck, Ryan, fuck, I can’t—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m—oh. _Oh._ ”

Piss flooded Ryan’s hand and he leaned away from Shane, not in disgust, but to see the way the front of his pants darkened, the way Ryan knew exactly where the head of his cock was because of the way his stream arced up from the fabric. Ryan brushed his thumb there, over the slit of Shane’s dick, and Shane made small, desperate sounds in the back of his throat.

“Jesus, Shane,” Ryan breathed. “Holy goddamn fuck, you’re incredible. Look at you, fuck, fuck.” Ryan sank to his knees, eyes glued to Shane’s crotch, the hand not tracing outlines on Shane’s sweats stroking his own cock. Shane was the most amazing thing he had ever seen in his entire life. This would be burned into his mind forever, for _ever_.

“Feels so good, God, oh, Ryan, _Ryan,_ ” Shane breathed. 

Ryan came without warning, hand shoved roughly down his pants like a teenager. His orgasm rolled through him in waves of light. When he came back to himself, the tension was flowing out of Shane too, and his hands were un-fisting, one of them twining into Ryan’s hair, the other tracing the outline of Ryan’s jaw. Shane’s stream abated slowly, then stopped. Ryan remained stunned, on his knees, until Shane pulled him up with gentle pressure along his jaw and kissed him breathless. Ryan let himself lean into it, feeling the wetness of Shane’s piss as Shane pressed his own soaked hard-on along the hard line of muscle Ryan’s hip. He kissed back, trapping Shane’s bottom lip in his teeth, reveling in the way Shane’s fingers almost bruised along his chin. Eventually they broke for breath and Ryan rested his forehead against Shane’s shoulder.

“Jesus,” Ryan breathed.

“You’ve said,” Shane said, laughter in his voice. 

“I—wow.”

“Yeah,” Shane agreed, scratching blunt fingernails along Ryan’s scalp. “God, I need a shower.”

“Sucks about the key,” Ryan teased, not meaning it in the slightest.

Shane hummed and then did something with one hand that Ryan couldn’t see. “You mean this key?” he asked. Ryan pulled back and saw Shane dangling an old-fashioned key on a cord from his left hand. 

“You son of a bitch,” Ryan whispered, glancing from the key to Shane’s quiet laughter. “You planned this.”

“Maybe,” Shane agreed. 

“Fuck _you.”_

“We can do that,” Shane agreed, twirling the key around his finger. “But first, shower?”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed. “Sure.”

As they crossed the room and Shane fit the key into the lock, he paused. “Ryan?”

“Mm?”

“You realize we didn’t turn the audio recorder off?”

“Oh. _Shit._ ”

“You better take that editing for yourself,” Shane said. “You know. Get rid of it.”

“Who said anything about getting rid of it?” Ryan asked. “I’m keeping that. Gonna listen to it ‘til I wear it out. Relive the fantasy.”

“You could,” Shane agreed. “Or… we could do this again?”

Ryan blinked, taken aback. “Yeah?”

“I piss myself for the man, and he’s surprised I’d wanna take him out,” Shane said to the room at large. “Can you believe it?”

“Shut up, you,” Ryan said, following Shane into the hallway and thinking of showers, and all the best ways to get wet in them. 

He had a feeling he should start packing extra clothes on shoots for the near future.

**Author's Note:**

> I won't dignify this with a link to my Twitter but I do have another BFU fic with like... acceptable situations in it. Go read that maybe.
> 
> Also this was unbeta'd so leave me a comment if you caught an error!


End file.
